


The High Road is Hard to Find

by jpo2107, ThirtySixSaveFiles



Category: Borderlands, borderlands: the pre-sequel
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Jack is a bad person, M/M, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 12:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9071710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jpo2107/pseuds/jpo2107, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: When Timothy Lawrence leaves Helios, he leaves something important behind - something that's catching up to him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaboration with @jpo2107, who provided the illustrations and with whom I agonized for several months about sad Timothy and Wilhelm headcanons.

Tim’s boots hit the ground with a dusty finality. He looks up to where Helios dominates the sky. It always looks improbably close, caught at the Lagrange point between Elpis and Pandora, ready to deliver supplies or moonshot to the surface as circumstances - or Handsome Jack’s mood - dictate.

Tim had always had the irrational fear that it was going to fall on him when he was planetside. He won’t have to worry about that for much longer, he supposes.

The wind picks up, blowing dust into Timothy’s eyes, and he wraps a faded green scarf more firmly around his face. It’s one of the few things he brought with him to this system - one of the few things Jack had allowed him to keep - and it’s one of the few things he’ll be taking out of it.

If it makes it across Pandora. If _he_ makes it across Pandora.

In the shuttle behind him, the console beeps an inquiry. It’s the automated flight control on Helios, asking for a confirmation of safe landing. Tim ducks back into the shuttle, scooping up his small bag. He hasn’t brought much with him; he doesn’t actually _own_ much anymore, and pretty much all of it can be replaced.

All of it except one person, who had stayed behind. Who had _chosen_ to stay behind.

Tim jerks the pin out of the grenade with more force than necessary. He tosses the bomb under the pilot’s seat and jumps down from the shuttle, counting down in his head. When he reaches zero, he ducks behind a nearby outcropping and covers his ears.

The blast is mostly contained by the body of the shuttle, but a few pieces of shrapnel go flying past where Tim’s sheltered. When he looks back around the rocks, the shuttle is a hollowed out, smoking mess. As he watches, one of the landing supports collapses and it lurches forward on its nose.

It feels like a metaphor for his life.

Tim lowers the goggles over his eyes and shoulders his bag, wincing as the motion pulls at the still-healing cut on his shoulder. For once Tim’s non-official existence is going to work _for_ him; the flight ID he used to get out doesn’t trigger any alarms, no matter what happens to the vehicle he uses, but the missing shuttle won’t go unnoticed forever. He figures he has a few hours before the system flags down an actual human, and a few more after that before Jack figures out what Tim’s done.

That still doesn’t leave him much margin for error. Time to move.

 

* * *

 

When Wilhelm walks through the doors to Handsome Jack’s office, Jack is very nearly screaming at some poor flunky over the ECHO-comm.

“- I will moonshot you down to Pandora myself if I have to, just _find that fucking shuttle._ ” Jack slams the comm closed with an open hand and sits back heavily in his chair. He drums the fingers of one hand on the arm as he stares at Wilhelm, other hand clenched around something in his fist.

“Did you know about this?” Jack asks abruptly.

Wilhelm frowns. “About what?”

The knuckles of Jack’s fist whiten and his voice is tight. “About the missing shuttle from bay six. About the flight on the other Jack’s ID that I didn’t authorize. About _this_.” He slams his fist down and shoves something across the desk at Wilhelm. It’s a round blinking capsule, like a large electronic pill, and as Wilhelm picks it up he can see that there’s dried blood smeared on it.

Wilhelm has the sudden sinking feeling that he _does_ know what this is about.

“Up until a few hours ago, that ECHO-locator was in my shadow’s shoulder.” Jack bares his teeth. “I don’t suppose you can tell me why it isn’t still there?”

Wilhelm stares back at Jack but says nothing. He...hadn’t known that Timothy had had one of those in him. He wonders how long Timothy had known.

Jack snorts when Wilhelm doesn’t respond. “Look, I know you two were fucking. I didn’t give a shit; two consenting adults, blah blah blah, yadda yadda, - and hey,” Jack laughs, short and ugly. “I can’t fault you for your taste in the looks department.”

“But now,” Jack continues, “I am down one body double, my _best_ body double, and _that_ -” Jack nods toward the device still clutched in Wilhem’s hand, “- tells me that he isn’t just off on a joyride.

So I am asking you one last time,” and here Jack’s voice drops to a growl, “ _did you know about this_?”

“No,” Wilhelm says, because that’s the only safe answer here.

Jack stares at him for a long moment, and Wilhelm is not sure that Jack buys it, but then Jack sits back.

“Good,” he says. “Then you won’t mind bringing him back for me.”

Wilhelm’s stomach drops.

“We should have an estimated location on the shuttle in under an hour. It’s short-range so he can’t have gone far.” Jack clenches his hands on the arms of his chair and leans forward. His eyes are _burning_.

“Find me my doppelganger. I don’t care how you do it or what condition he’s in, but bring. Him. _Back.”_

* * *

Tim arrives in Sanctuary after what feels like a long day, but the sun is still high in the sky. Pandora’s day and night cycles take some getting used to, but if all goes well he won’t be here long enough to have to make the adjustment.

Tim checks the location on his ECHO again and ducks down a side alley. He lurks in a recess for a minute as two Sanctuary citizens wander by, but apparently he looks Pandoran-enough (or at least dust-stained enough) that he doesn’t garner a second glance. When they’ve passed him by, he approaches the door that he hopes will get him out of this mess.

A single knock on the door doesn’t get him anything. Tim waits for a minute, then tries again, trying not to panic. What if she’s out? He doesn’t have much time to waste -

“If you know whose door this is, then you should know not to knock,” comes the voice on the other side, and Tim could cry in relief as it starts to open. “And if you don’t know, boy, are you in for some trouble.” Mad Moxxi stands disapprovingly in the doorway, makeup off and in casual clothes, and eyes him up and down. “Can I help you?” she asks, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Belatedly Tim realizes his face is still covered, and he scrambles to shove the goggles up and pull his scarf down. “Moxxi- Mox, it’s me. It’s Tim.”

“ _Timothy?_ What are you-” Moxxi’s eyes narrow. “Did that bastard tell you to pay me a visit? Because I know what you’ve been doing for him, sugar, and let me tell you, if you think I’m not going to put up a fight just because it’s _you_ then you’ve got another think coming.”

Tim holds up his hands and takes a half-step back. “No, no no no, it’s not like that - I’m done with all that, Mox.” Tim takes a deep breath. “You told me once, a long time ago, that if I ever needed anything I could come to you.” Tim spreads his hands and hopes this works, because if it doesn’t he is fast running out of options. “Well, I’m coming to you now, if the offer’s still good.”

Moxxi doesn’t budge, but her posture relents a little. “What do you need?”

Tim blows out a breath. “I need to disappear. Off this planet, out of this system; whatever it takes because I am done with Jack, I am _done_.” Tim’s voice cracks a little on the last word.

Moxxi studies him for a long moment. He doesn’t blame her for being cautious - Handsome Jack has not endeared himself to most of the planet, and Tim has spent the last several years of his life supporting - _enforcing_ \- his rule. Whatever she sees in his face must convince her, though, because she steps back and waves him inside.

“Come on in, then, honey. Tell me your tale and I’ll see what I can do.”

 

* * *

 

Wilhelm pauses outside the door to Timothy’s quarters. He tells himself that he’s clearing his head, but the truth is - the truth is that he doesn’t have a good reason for this sudden reluctance to enter this space that Tim had called his own.

The space that Tim isn’t coming back to, unless Wilhelm makes him.

Jack has been here before him - that’s how he had found the left-behind tracker - but Jack had told Wilhelm to take a look himself because “you spent time with that little shit, maybe you’ll see something I didn't.” Wilhelm knows this, and he knows Jack, but he’s still unprepared for the sight that meets his eyes when he finally keys the door open.

Tim’s room looks like a hurricane has torn through it. _Hurricane Jack_ , Wilhelm thinks to himself as he steps over clothing torn off racks and upturned drawers. Surveying the damage, he’s not sure what he’s supposed to find in all of this - but maybe that was never the point.

Nudging a pile of Hyperion-yellow sweaters with his toe, Wilhelm thinks that maybe he’ll put a few things away while he’s here. Tim’s going to be in for a rough enough time when Wilhelm brings him back; Wilhelm might as well put his room back in some sort of order while he’s waiting on a location. Jack still hasn’t found the shuttle Tim stole, but Wilhelm knows that when Jack calls for him again he’s going to be sending Wilhelm to Pandora.

That’s where Tim was heading. That’s what he had said, anyway.

It doesn’t take long; Timothy hadn’t had much in the way of belongings. Clothes get dumped in the closet, furniture gets righted, and as he’s placing paperbacks carefully back on the small bookshelf Wilhelm notices that his hands are shaking and he realizes abruptly that he is deeply, _profoundly_ angry. Angry at Jack for this petulant display of temper, angry at Tim for putting Wilhelm in this position, angry at himself for not heading this off at the pass.

Angry at himself for not taking Timothy seriously when he had said he was going to leave. Angry at Tim for _wanting_ to leave and for _screwing everything up._

As he places the last book on the shelf, Wilhelm notices that there’s one missing. He stands and scans the floor, even checks under the bed, but the missing book is nowhere to be seen. It’s odd; Tim never carried books with him on missions, said they distracted him from being Jack. Wilhelm frowns, and wonders if this is the kind of thing that Jack wanted him to be on the lookout for, but try as he might he can’t recall anything significant about the missing title.

Tim probably left it somewhere else on Helios. It probably doesn’t mean anything.

Wilhelm’s ECHO beeps. Jack, probably.

On his way out, Wilhelm finds himself pausing by the cork-board he had re-hung over the dresser. Tim loved to take pictures, liked to capture and preserve small moments. They’re of people Tim knows, mostly; Athena with Springs hanging off her shoulder, Tim with a stray cat in Prosperity Junction, even one of Wilhelm asleep and looking far younger than he feels in this moment.

There are a lot of pictures of Wilhelm.

Wilhelm traces his fingers over the photos he has painstakingly re-pinned one by one, and pauses on one of him and Timothy, taken in one of Helios’ landing bays. Tim looks flushed and happy, and Wilhelm is even smiling a bit. He carefully unpins it and tucks it inside his vest, turning toward the door as his ECHO beeps insistently at him. He is unable to explain this, even to himself.

Time to get to work.

* * *

It’s Moxxi’s idea to cut his hair. “You have to do _something_ to not look like him, and where you’re headed you’ll appreciate the breeze.”

So Tim sits and lets her turn his head one way and then the other, shaving down the sides, and when he looks at himself in the mirror afterward he has to admit that she was right; he doesn’t look _quite_ like Handsome Jack anymore. Like Jack in another life, maybe.

Moxxi reaches up and taps her finger on his nose. “I don’t remember you having these, sugar.”

Oh, right. “Yeah, they- they started coming back after about a year.” Tim wrinkles his nose at himself, inspecting his freckles. “Jack doesn’t know. I used to put on makeup to hide them - seemed like a better choice than getting my face resurfaced. _Again._ Wilhelm-” _Wilhelm liked them_ is the rest of that sentence, but Tim’s throat closes unexpectedly and he doesn’t finish.

Moxxi seems to hear him just fine anyway. “Oh, honey.” She’s about to say something else when every ECHO unit in the place turns on at once, channels resetting themselves until Jack’s synchronized voice pours out of every speaker.

“People of Pandora, Handsome Jack here,” and oh god, is it time for another one of Jack’s vanity broadcasts? At least if he’s doing this he’s not actively looking for Tim -

“- you know I love all of Pandora equally, but today I have a very special message for a very special individual.” Jack pauses and Tim idly wonders what bandit leader has been singled out for death this time.

“Timothy,” Jack says, drawing it out, and Tim stops breathing altogether. “Oh _Timothy_ , you have been a _very_ bad boy.”

No. This is _not_ possible.

“Timothy, I’m not mad, I’m just _disappointed_ . Well, I’m mad too - mad _and_ disappointed. Misappointed? Whatever.” Jack continues, as if he hasn’t just broadcast the name he had told Tim over and over again wasn’t his anymore to the entire planet. “But because I am _merciful_ , I am willing to _forgive you_ if you just come home. In fact, do me a favor, Timmy; wherever you are right now, look up, ok?”

Moxxi tries to stop him, but Tim shrugs her off and stumbles to the window. He looks up toward the sky, toward Helios, and he sees other residents of Sanctuary doing the same.

There’s a flash of light from the space station, and then a spark arcing away from it and curving toward Pandora. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the residents pulling their heads in and slamming shutters closed, but Tim stays where he is, watching that spark of light grow steadily larger.

“You see that? That’s _Wilhelm_ , on his way to come get you. Now don’t you worry your pretty little head, Timothy - you just sit tight and wait for Wilhelm, and soon this will all be behind us.” Jack chuckles darkly, and it echoes throughout the room. “I’ll see you soon, buddy.” and the broadcast goes dead.

Timothy sees spots at the edge of his vision and has to force himself to breathe, sucking in huge lungfuls of air, but it seems like there’s not enough oxygen in the room, on the _planet_ , to make his head stop spinning.

“I can’t, I can’t, I _can’t_ , Mox, I can’t go back.” Tim slowly hears his own voice filtering back in through the roaring in his ears, and Moxxi’s patting his arm, saying “shh, honey, it’s all right.”

“It’s _not all right._ ” Tim tears his arm away, and he knows he’s being a jerk but his brain keeps replaying the way Jack’s voice had curled around “see you soon” - and underneath that _Wilhelm, Wilhelm._

Tim sinks down on the chair, hiding his face in his hands. “I asked him to come with me, you know that?” Moxxi makes a little questioning noise, and Tim says. “ _Wilhelm_ . We were - we were, you know, _together,_ and I asked him to come with me and he said _no._ Said the _money_ was too good to walk away from. Said we had a good deal with Jack, and why did I want to mess that up?” Tim laughs and it sounds a little hysterical. “ _A good deal_ . And now he can’t just let me walk away, he’s going to drag me back, and I _can’t go back to Jack, Mox, I can’t -”_

“Hush, sugar, come here.” Moxxi wraps her arms around his shoulders and rocks him a little, and Tim wants to let her comfort him but there’s a cold sick feeling spreading in his gut that her words can’t seem to touch. “Come on, pull yourself together. You’ve got a good head start on that overgrown mountain of a man; we’ll have you out of here before he’s even landed.”

“You don’t know what he’s capable of,” Tim mumbles, dropping his hands, but Moxxi’s right, he has to _pull himself together_ or he’s not going to make it through this.

“Oh, I know, sugar. Everyone down here knows.” Moxxi rests a hand on his shoulder. “You can drive a Technical, right?” Tim nods and Moxxi smiles at him. It’s the smile he remembers, smaller but more genuine than the ones she gives customers. “There’s a smuggling crew that lands in the Eridium Blight - the fallout masks their approach. I’ll let them know you’re coming - if you can make it across the Dead Sands you can get offworld.”

At Tim’s skeptical look she shrugs. “Captain owes me a favor. It’s good to have friends,” she adds with a salacious wink.

“All right.” Moxxi claps him on the back and moves toward the doorway. “Get your stuff; I’ll gas up the Technical and put out the word that anyone matching the description of _Enforcer_ is persona non grata.”

“Moxxi -” Tim’s throat closes up. He doesn’t know how to thank her, to tell her how grateful she is for this lifeline out of the nightmare his life has become. She stops and looks back at him, and when her face softens slightly he think that she knows.

 

* * *

 

When Wilhelm slams the door open, Moxxi’s waiting for him.

Wilhelm had known Timothy would go to her. Tim didn’t have a lot of options on Pandora, and Moxxi has connections. If Tim wanted to disappear, this is where he would come.

He can see by the way she’s looking at him that he’s not wrong. Best get on with it, then.

“Where is he.” Wilhelm’s tone is flat, and Moxxi takes a drag on her cigarette. She appears to be alone in the place, sitting at a small table in the front room. Her makeup is thick and flawless, her hair perfectly styled, her outfit snug and low-cut. Not for the first time Wilhelm thinks she wears it like armor, a carefully constructed layer between herself and the world.

“I thought I’d quit these, you know?” She says instead of answering. She ashes the end into the little tray on the table. “Funny the things we can’t let go of.”

That sounds like it’s supposed to mean something, but Wilhelm was never very good at this indirect kind of conversation. He steps into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him, and the light coming in from between the blinds paints bars over Moxxi’s face in the sudden gloom.

“Where’s he headed?” He doesn’t have time for this.

“I’m not telling you a damn thing, sugar, except to leave well enough alone. Tim’s made his choice. Now it’s time for you to make yours.”

Wilhelm frowns at her. There’s no _choice_ here; he’s going to collect Tim and take him back to Helios, and everything will be like it was before. Jack will be pissy for a while, but he’ll get over it once Tim’s back where he belongs, and Wilhelm will do a better job of showing Tim that he _does_ belong there. On Helios.

With Wilhelm.

Wilhelm takes a step further into the room; he’s honestly not sure what he intends to do, but Moxxi stops him in his tracks by pulling a pistol out from under the table and laying it on the table, finger on the trigger.

“I don’t want to start a fight, sugar, and I think that’s not what you want either.” Moxxi takes another drag off her cigarette and blows a smoke ring at him. “So why don’t you turn around and save us both the trouble?”

Wilhelm weighs his options. Moxxi’s a good shot, but Wilhelm doesn’t leave Helios without a shield, and he’s pretty sure he can weather whatever she can throw at him. On the other hand, he’s pretty sure he has her to thank for the bandits he ran into outside of Sanctuary; while bandits are a part of life on Pandora, these had seemed more _focused_ than your typical opportunists. If he has more of that to look forward to, if Moxxi’s painted a target on his back, then Wilhelm would do well to keep as low of a profile as he can.

It’s not that Wilhelm’s not confident he can take any wannabe on Pandora. It’s just that every minute he wastes on some jackass with a shotgun and delusions of accuracy is a minute that takes Tim further away.

Wilhelm grunts, and turns back for the door. “I’ll find him anyway. You know I will.”

“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t.” Moxxi calls after him, and Wilhelm stops and looks back at her.

“Is that a threat?” Pistol or no, quick draw or no, Moxxi’s no match for Wilhelm. She knows that, and Moxxi’s not the type to make idle threats. So what is she saying?

“Oh no, honey,” and for a second she almost sounds _sorry_ for him. “That’s just the truth.”

* * *

It hadn’t been all bad, Tim thinks as he works his way up a rocky incline. His Technical had broken down somewhere in the middle of the Dead Sands, and there was nothing to do but to keep going on foot. He would have had to abandon it soon anyway - the terrain was getting increasingly uneven, and although those vehicles were built for a lot, there was only so much _vertical_ they could take before they gave up.

So on foot it was. Unfortunately, that left Tim with an abundance of time to _think_.

Right now he was thinking that it hadn’t been all bad, on Helios. Sure, no one besides Jack and Wilhelm and a few doctors had even known he existed, but he had been steadily employed (even if that employment occasionally meant blowing someone’s head off), had access to the best healthcare this side of the central planets, and his student loan debt had been steadily shrinking. (Tim finds it sadly hilarious that although Jack had done an incredibly thorough job of erasing him from the record, Tim’s student loan servicer still somehow knew where to find him, even way out on the border planets.) No one could say that Jack wasn’t a generous employer - on paper, at least.

And then there had been Wilhelm.

Tim pulls himself up onto a ledge and turns and sits, surveying the distance he’s come. If he keeps his eyes on the horizon and doesn’t look _down_ , the height isn’t so bad. He’s learned to endure a lot in the last few years; heights are the least of it. He can see his Technical in the distance if he squints, and if he squints further can can see small figures swarming over it, presumably stripping it for useful parts. He wishes them the luck of it.

He shifts his bag around and pulls out a canteen and a protein bar. He’s a little calmer, now that the initial panic has passed. He knew the odds of getting away clean were low, but Moxxi’s right: he has a good head start, and just being in motion has somewhat soothed the need to _run_ , to _flee._ He feels better, better than he has in a long time, which might be why, when his fingers brush against it as he puts the canteen away, he pulls the battered paperback out of his bag.

It’s a pulp novel - ubiquitous, escapist, the kind Timothy had hoped to write one day. He had had at least a dozen just like it on the bookshelf in his little room on Helios.

It’s not the book that’s important, though. It’s what’s inside it.

The paperback falls open in Tim’s hands, like it’s been opened to this exact spot dozens of times before. Nestled in between the pages is a pressed blue rose, flattened and dried. Tim traces the flower with his fingers, then holds it up to the sun. The bloom is pressed so flat as to be almost translucent, and as he turns it he can see the light shining through.

No. No, it hadn’t been all bad.

Wilhelm had been nothing that Timothy had expected, out here on the border planets where casual murder and corporate greed were the order of the day. Or rather, he hadn’t expected someone like Wilhelm - rough, scarred, and with enough weaponry to open his own arms shop - to be capable of such _gentleness_ , to hold Timothy like he was something precious. He certainly hadn’t expected Wilhelm to be into horticulture; but Tim had sat cross-legged on the bed in Wilhelms quarters, bemused and charmed as the big hands that handled a gun with devastating accuracy gently trimmed the blue rosebush growing on the dresser. When Wilhelm had shyly presented Tim with a fresh-cut bloom, Tim knew by the expansive feeling in his chest that he was in deep, but he hadn’t cared at the time, preferring to pull Wilhelm down for a kiss rather than ruminate on an uncertain future.

Now that that future is here - well, Timothy doesn’t quite feel like he can call Wilhelm a _mistake_. It has seemed like a good idea at the time, back when the thrill of being the saviors of Helios was still fresh. Back when he had thought he had seen the worst that Jack would ask of him; when he had still thought that there were things he wouldn’t do.

The rose starts shaking and Tim forces his fingers to still.

Then the wind picks up, tousling his hair and ripping the flower from his suddenly shaky grasp. Timothy grabs after it, but it’s gone in a second, swirling back down the ridge the way he came. Tim looks at his empty fingers, then down at the empty book, then grits his teeth and throws the paperback off the ledge, into empty space. He doesn’t hear it hit the ground. Tim puts his face in his hands and forces himself to breathe evenly, to not _scream_ into the silent desert the way he wants to.

It’s not - it doesn’t matter. He’s cutting his ties to Helios. He’s not even sure why he brought that thing with him in the first place.

It’ll be one less thing to carry, anyway.

He’s lingered here too long. Timothy shoulders his back and gets up, resolutely turning his back on the sandy plains and resuming the climb. What’s behind him doesn’t matter. The only important thing is what lies ahead.

* * *

Wilhelm knows he’s getting closer; he passed a stripped Technical not too far back, and from the looks of it, it hasn’t been out here too long. His own vehicle had given up not long after, but Wilhelm doesn’t have a problem continuing the chase on foot. Timothy may be fast but Wilhelm has endurance, and he’ll catch up, in the end. He has no doubt about that.

He’s just not entirely sure, anymore, that he wants to.

The blue would have been easy to miss, if Wilhelm hadn’t been looking, if the paperback half-buried in sand hadn’t confirmed that he was on the right trail. It was definitely Timothy’s missing volume; Wilhelm had recognized the pattern of wear on the edges and the crease in the cover Tim has been so upset about. What he hadn’t recognized, at least at first, was the faint blue pigment smeared across the inside pages. It wasn’t until the small _crunch_ underfoot, several paces farther up the trail, that Wilhelm had realized what it was he was looking at. The pressed flower had practically disintegrated under his boot, but when Wilhelm crouches and stirs his finger through the remains, what is left is unmistakeable.

He hadn’t realized Timothy had kept it.

He doesn’t know what it means, that Tim had kept the flower Wilhelm had given him - or what it means that it’s discarded here, along with its erstwhile home; but he can feel the uneasiness that had started in Jack’s office growing, blooming in his stomach and twisting his guts.

Wilhelm straightens and shades his eyes, looking ahead. The trail disappears pretty quickly into a nearly vertical surface, although it’s craggy enough that someone who was determined enough could make their way up it, rather than losing nearly half a day trekking around. Wilhelm dutifully checks the ground around the cliff face, but the signs that he’s been following point up, not around. Wilhelm looks up again, remembering the quaver in Tim’s voice every time he had had to use a jump pad.

Wilhelm hadn’t believed Timothy when he had said he was going to leave Helios. He wouldn’t have believed that Tim would have voluntarily gone up this cliff-face, either, but it looks like he was wrong about that as well.

Wilhelm wonders what else he was wrong about.

* * *

Then there’s a day where he wakes up in the desert and he doesn’t know who he is.

He knows he’s not on Helios; the bright sunlight piercing his eyelids gives that away. He rolls over and cracks his eyes - the morning disorientation usually goes away after a bit, he just needs a few second to adjust. He’s lying in the shelter of a billboard listing gently in the sand. It’s seen better days but it’s still intact enough to keep him out of the wind. He sits up, blinking to help clear the cobwebs, and the faded paint-job swims into focus.

_Handsome Jack welcomes you to Paradise Crossing_ , the sign reads, and that’s his face up there, larger than life, but that’s not him, that’s _not him_ -

He scrambles backwards until his back hits an outcropping of rock, eyes fixed on that face. That _is_ his face, he recognizes it from the mirror - _doesn’t he? -_ but that’s not his name - _isn’t it? -_ and that’s when a shadow falls over him and he hears the distinctive _click_ of a safety coming off.

Instinct takes over.

He lashes out behind himself, catching a leg and pulling the bandit down on top of him. They roll together for a few bumpy seconds, elbows and fists flying, but he makes sure he comes out on top and in possession of the gun. He pauses, breath heaving but pistol aimed steadily at the bandit’s face, which is rapidly paling.

“H-h-handsome Jack sir! I-I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you -” He realizes his goggles have broken and his scarf is loose around his neck, but the bandit’s words bring a wash of clarity.

“Wrong,” Timothy says, and pulls the trigger.

Threat neutralized, Tim takes a quick survey of his surroundings, but he doesn’t see or hear anyone else and he allows himself to relax a fraction. Bandits usually travel in packs, but a lone wanderer is not unheard of.

As the adrenaline recedes Tim’s hands start to shake and he leans over the side of the bandit’s body and retches. It’s not the kill that’s making his stomach roil - he’s done worse, he’s _learned_ to do worse and be fine afterward. He spits to clear his mouth out and looks back up at Handsome Jack’s face leering down at him.

He knows he’s not Jack. But to be honest he’s not sure he deserves to be Timothy, either.

The old Timothy Lawrence couldn’t make a headshot at 200 meters. Timothy Lawrence had never burned a settlement too small to even have a name to the ground on Jack’s orders. Timothy Lawrence had never killed anyone with his bare hands and been congratulated for it.

(“Ha ha, nice job!” Jack had crowed as the body slipped from Tim’s fingers. Jack inspected the bruises around the cooling corpse’s neck and whistled. “Couldn’t have done it better myself,” he had said, eyeing Tim appreciatively, and as the adrenaline faded Tim had felt faintly sick, still vividly feeling the _crunch_ of the poor bastard’s windpipe underneath his thumbs.)

The old Timothy wouldn’t have pulled the trigger on some poor bastard just for recognizing his face, but Tim thinks that the old Timothy Lawrence is probably dead.

New Timothy is all about survival.

He’s just over a day away from the landing site. One more day, and then he can shake the dust from this planet off his boots forever.

* * *

Wilhelm can’t sleep.

It’s not the rocky ground that won’t let him shut his eyes; he’s slept on worse, and at least here he’s got a comfortable pad and sleeping bag in his gear. It’s the vision of Tim tossing his head back and diggings his fingers into Wilhelm’s shoulders, and the way he looked under Wilhelm’s hands and mouth, all breathless and needy. Wilhelm remembers the crazy urge to steal Tim away where no one but Wilhelm could get his hands on him.

Suddenly it doesn’t seem so crazy.

But he can’t sleep, so he’s soldiering on, struggling up sand dunes and skidding down the other side, until he crests one and sees a flicker of light from a rocky outcropping up ahead. It looks like a small cave, large enough for a lone traveller to take shelter in but not big enough to host much in the way of Pandoran wildlife. Wilhelm halts, and in that flicker of light becomes the only movement in the still Pandoran night. There’s always a chance that it’s some other traveller, but Wilhelm doesn’t think he’s that lucky.

Wilhelm always knew he would catch up with Timothy. That was never in doubt. He looks up to where Helios hangs in the sky, imagining that he can pick out the glint of Jack’s office among the flicker of lights.

Wilhelm had always figured that whatever was between Tim and Jack was their business, so he hadn’t given it much thought when Jack would refer to Timothy by anything but his name, or when Tim would come back from missions tight-lipped and pale. He remembers Timothy staring for long minutes into the mirror over the sink, and Wilhelm wonders now whose face he was seeing. Wilhelm had never had any trouble telling Jack and Timothy apart; even before the mask, even when Tim was _being_ Jack, the only thing that baffled Wilhelm was that other people _didn’t_ appear to see what he saw.

Everyone saw Handsome Jack. Wilhelm wonders now if he was the only one who ever saw Timothy.

* * *

Tim is about to shut off the lamp on the cave floor when he hears the crunch of footprints outside the cave entrance, and he knows what he’s going to see even before he looks up. He _knew_ he shouldn’t have left the light on this long - he might as well have sent up a flare announcing where he was - but this close to safety, he had thought he could get away with it.

Or maybe, he thinks as he looks up and meets Wilhelm’s eyes, he hadn’t wanted to get away with it.

Tim doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know that there _is_ anything to say anymore; pleading has never changed Wilhelm’s mind, not that Tim had ever seen. If nothing Tim had said in that last screaming fight before Tim had stormed out of Wilhelm’s quarters and toward shuttle bay six had changed Wilhelm’s mind, then Timothy doesn’t know what he can say now that will make a difference. But Wilhelm doesn’t move in further past the edge of the circle of light on the floor, just gazes at Tim impassively, and although it makes him sick Tim feels a faint thread of hope rising.

“You could still come with me,” Timothy blurts out. Wilhelm doesn’t say anything, just looks at him, and Tim presses on. “The ship I’m meeting is less than a day from here. It’s heading out to Demophon, and from there we could go _anywhere_ : Aquator, one of the Edens, some little border planet too insignificant to even have a name - somewhere where Jack could never find us. _Come with me._ ” _Say yes this time._ Tim’s heart is in his throat; it feels like he can’t breathe around it.

Wilhelm’s face creases, and Tim’s whole body is waiting for that _yes_ , so much so that it’s a cold shock when Wilhelm says, “I can’t.”

Tim feels like he’s been gut-punched, and he takes a step back on suddenly shaky legs. God fucking _damnit_ , he should have fucking _known_ \- but he had let himself be blinded by hope, _again_ , that he had meant something more to Wilhelm than a convenient fuck. He had thought that maybe since Wilhelm hadn’t immediately dragged him out here that maybe there was a chance - but now Tim’s trapped in this cave with Wilhelm blocking the only exit, and Tim is _not_ going back to Helios. Not alive.

Wilhelm’s ECHO beeps and as Wilhelm reaches to answer it, eyes still locked with Timothy’s, Tim wonders if he’s a faster draw than Wilhelm the Enforcer, if Tim can get to his pistol in time.

Tim wonders if he even wants to.

Wilhelm taps the ECHO on and Handsome Jack’s voice fills the tiny cave. “Freakin’ _finally_ , I was beginning to thing you weren’t going to answer. Have you caught up with that shithead yet?”

“Yup.” Wilhelm’s still looking straight at Tim. Tim can’t breathe.

Jack’s triumphant crow echoes around them and Tim feels like he might throw up. “Halle- _goddamn-_ lujah! Is he conscious? Tell me you didn’t have to break too many bones, I was looking forward to that part.”

Wilhelm doesn’t answer right away, and it seems like a small eternity between the time that Jack’s gleeful voice fades and Wilhelm says flatly, “Tim’s dead.”

“ _What_ ,” Jack snaps, and Tim wants to echo it himself, but he doesn’t dare even breathe. Wilhelm’s still watching him with unreadable eyes, and Tim feels exposed, pinned under his gaze, like one wrong move will give everything away.

“Oh, for the love of - how in the hell did _that_ happen?” Jack sounds put out, like it’s a personal inconvenience, and despite the heat Tim chills to know that it’s not the fact of Tim’s “death” that’s irritating Jack, but the fact that Jack didn’t get to personally dispense it.

“Looks like he fell,” Wilhelm says gruffly. “He never was very good with heights.”

“Oh christ, you’re not gonna cry on me, are you big guy? Please tell me you’re not getting all weepy.” Wilhelm doesn’t respond, and Jack huffs over the line. “Fine, be that way.” Jack falls silent, and Tim can almost see him sitting back at his desk, drumming his fingers. Tim had always thought that Jack was at his most dangerous when he was silent; as bad as Jack’s snap decisions could be, when he had time to think he got _inventive._

“Well. Shit,” Jack says finally. “I mean it’s not like things weren’t heading here anyway, but damn. I was looking forward to snapping his neck myself. Is he recognizable?”

“Nah,” Wilhelm replies. “Skags got to him.”

“Huh. God, I hope he was still alive when they did.” Jack chuckles. “That’s how I’m going to remember him, anyway. Hey, get me a memento or something, would ya? Then haul your ass back up here, we’ve got bigger fish and all that.”

Jack _clicks_ the line off and Tim’s legs give out all at once, sending him stumbling back, groping for an outcropping he can ease himself down onto.

“What - _what_ -” Tim can’t quite get the words out: _what did you just do_ , and _what does that mean_ , and _what happens next._

Wilhelm shuts his ECHO off and steps forward, crouching in front of where Timothy’s trying to relearn how to breathe. He reaches out and Tim flinches back before he can help himself, but Wilhelm just snags the scarf around Timothy’s neck, drawing it down and off. It’s dusty and blood-stained, and it feels like the last piece of Tim’s old life slipping away under Wilhelm’s fingers. Wilhelm doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just looks down at the fabric in his fingers, and when he looks back up his face is determined in a way Tim has never seen from him.

“You think he’ll believe that?” Tim asks before Wilhelm can say anything. “You think he trusts _anyone_ that much?”

Wilhelm shrugs. “I’ve never given him a reason not to.” Tim can’t help but laugh, and once he starts he can’t stop, hysteria bubbling out of him. He leans forward and braces his hands on his knees, trying to breathe regularly, but it’s hard because Wilhelm is fucking _right_. Tim had been close to Jack, maybe closer than anyone, and he knows just how Jack had felt about Wilhelm. Jack had always appreciated Wilhelm’s straightforward approach to life - offer enough money, and Wilhelm didn’t ask questions.

Timothy knows how good Jack is at hitting people where it hurts; that’s why he had sent _Wilhelm_ after Tim, after all, and not a cadre of troops or bots. This was meant to be a lesson for both of them. If Wilhelm returns - if he returns _alone_ \- Jack will believe that.

“He’ll -” Tim hiccups and draws in a breath. “If he _ever_ finds out -”

“He won’t,” Wilhelm says. “I’ve got no reason to lie to him. All I care about is the money, right?” He smiles slightly, and Tim could _hit_ him for throwing that back in Tim’s face if it weren’t for the resignation in Wilhelm’s eyes.

“You don’t have to do this.” Tim angrily wipes his eyes.

“I do.” Wilhelm shifts in front of him. “Jack’s not going to let this go,” he says, low and certain, and Timothy knows that by _this_ Wilhelm means _you_. “Not unless he thinks there’s nothing to chase.”

“If I disappear with you this will never be over. So this is for Jack -” Wilhelm balls Timothy’s scarf up in one hand and tips Tim’s chin up with the other. “And this is for me,” he finishes, and then Wilhelm’s lips are on his and it’s like nothing has changed, only _everything_ has, and when Wilhelm pulls away Tim can feel the wetness fresh on his cheeks. _Come with me_ , he wants to beg, but begging has never changed Wilhelm’s mind, and Tim can’t stand to hear Wilhelm tell him _no_ again. He also knows that Wilhelm's right about this; Jack’s not the type to let go. Timothy knows that better than anyone.

But he doesn’t know if he can say what he needs to out loud, so he grabs Wilhelm’s vest and pulls him in again one last time, and Tim hopes that his lips on Wilhelm’s can speak for him, that Wilhelm can hear him when he says _I understand_ and _Thank you_ and _I love you too._

This time when they break apart Tim’s eyes aren’t the only ones suspiciously bright.

“I get it. I do, I get it.” Tim repeats when Wilhelm eyes him. “If you ever change your mind - if things change, look me up, okay?” He finished in a rush as Wilhelm opens his mouth, and whatever Wilhelm was about to say he keeps to himself instead.

“Okay,” Wilhelm says gruffly, getting to his feet. He pauses, looking down at Timothy, who doesn’t feel like he can stand at the moment. “Take care of yourself, Tim.” Then he turns, and with a few steps he’s gone into the night.

Tim is left alone.

* * *

Wilhelm treks back the way he came, making his way up the shifting terrain under the pale light of the moon. He almost hopes he comes across a rakk hive or an opportunistic band of skags; he would welcome the distraction. Behind him he hears a faint clatter and crash, like someone kicking a lantern into a cave wall. There’s no sound save for the desert wind after that.

Wilhelm doesn’t turn around, but it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done.

* * *

Tim doesn’t sleep at all that night.

When the sun finally dawns he packs his small bag mechanically, heading out toward the rising sun. He barely notices when he finally reaches the Blight, and he nearly walks off the edge of the small crater where he’s supposed to meet the freighter taking him off-world. He catches himself on the lip, sending rocks tumbling down the incline, and all of a sudden there are at least six guns pointed at him, and those are just the ones he can _see_.

“I, uh -” Tim clears his throat and tries again. “I think you’re my ride?” His voice echoes oddly in the rocky depression.

There’s a long moment where no one moves, and then one of the helmeted figures at the bottom of the crater makes a gesture and half the guns are lowered, their owners going back to the business of loading cargo. The presumable leader waves Timothy down, and he breathes a sigh of relief as he starts down the incline. The lead figure meets him at the bottom, lifting the visor to reveal a scarred face that has seen better days.

“Name’s Argyle. This is my ship. You Timothy?” Tim nods and Argyle looks him up and down, hand resting on the butt of his pistol. “Moxxi said you’d be wearing a green scarf. Said that’s how we’d know you.” His gaze goes pointedly to Tim’s naked throat.

“I. I lost it.” Tim’s voice sounds strange to his own ears, and he doesn’t know what it sounds like to this captain, but after moment Argyle shrugs.

“Whatever. You got the money?” Tim nods and, careful not to make any sudden moves, reaches into his bag, drawing out the pouch Moxxi had given him and tossing it over. Argyle catches it one handed, and when he sees what’s inside he whistles.

“God _damn_ . You must have done _something_ to want to get off-world this badly. And with your face, I can see why.” Tim tenses up, but Argyle takes his hand off his gun and the tension among his crew almost visibly dissipates. “Nah, don’t tell me - I don’t really give a shit. Come on, we’re almost ready - ten more minutes and we would have left without you.” He turns and heads back toward the ship, the rest of his crew going back to their pre-flight preparations, and Tim falls in step behind.

It’s strange to think that these are his last moments on Pandora, in this system; that he’ll never have to set foot on Helios, or answer to Jack, ever again. Tim looks up - Helios is smaller from here, but it’s still dominant in the sky, and Tim wonders what it’s like to breathe out from under the weight of it. Tim wonders if he even remembers how.

Timothy’s footsteps slow, and he pauses, still staring at Helios.

If he leaves - _when_ he leaves, he can go anywhere in the universe, preferably somewhere far away, where no one knows this face and the names _Handsome Jack_ and _Wilhelm the Enforcer_ are just rumors, ghost stories. Where no one - not Moxxi, not Jack, not even Wilhelm will never be able to find him.

Tim repeats that last part to himself: where Wilhelm will never be able to find him.

Argyle suddenly appears in Tim’s field of vision. “Yo, Pandora to Timothy, we’re ready. You coming or not? We’re on a schedule, here.”

Tim blows out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “No. I - no, you know what, I’m not.” He shakes his head, and for the first time when he looks up at Helios it feels like a weight lifting _off_ his shoulders instead of bearing down.

Argyle frowns. “You sure? No refunds.” His hand is back on on his pistol.

“I’m sure.” Tim laughs and raises his hands, stepping back. “Keep it. For your trouble.”

Argyle eyes him a moment longer, then shrugs, turning and shouting at his crew to “pack it up, people!” In minutes the landing area is clear except for Tim, thrusters on the ship flaring as they warm up. Tim stands alone, buffeted by the wash of the ship’s passage as it lifts off and shoots into the sky. He watches until it’s a speck on the horizon, and then until it’s gone, and then turns his eyes back to Helios.

If he leaves Pandora he’s never coming back. If things on Helios change, if _Wilhelm_ changes his mind, Tim won’t know about it if he’s off on Aquator or Eden.

Handsome Jack’s reach is far, but it’s not infinite, and the man has enemies. No one lives forever - Timothy knows that better than most.

Tim coughs as a change in the wind blows mining dust into his face, and he turns to start making his way back up the way he came. The Blight is no place to hang around, but the desert - a man could get lost in the desert, could make a new life for himself if he needed to. If he had a reason to stay.

It’s not something so solid as a chance; it’s barely even a hope. But as Timothy looks up again at Helios, he’s struck for the first time by the sense of _possibility._

_ _

**Author's Note:**

> You can find us at [ThirtySixSaveFiles](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com) and [JillDrawBlog](http://jilldrawblog.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


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